On War
by Maia May
Summary: Charlie's brave. He's a Gryffindor. He's used to war and dragons, to getting hurt and to survive. But he's also tired and he's never been convinced. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **The Harry-Potter-Universe with its characters, events and places belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't earn money with this, I'm just playing with her characters and it's all just for fun.

**Author's Note: **To be honest, I haven't got a clue where this story came from. I was sitting in front of my computer, reading quotations on war, and then my fingers started typing without me realising. It's my very first piece on Charlie and I'm not sure whether it fits to the Canon-Charlie, but it really made sense in my head. I'm not sure what I want to actually express with this story, either. What a pity. I hope you enjoy it, nevertheless.

**Important: **As you will probably realise while reading the first few sentences: I'm **not **a native speaker.** English is** **not my mother tongue** and therefore, I apologize for all the mistakes I've made in this text. Please do tell me if there are any severe and horrible mistakes in it and I will correct them.

Have fun reading!

* * *

**On War**

_oOo_

_You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you._

_(Leon Trotsky)_

_oOo_

It had been supposed to be easy.

It had been such a great plan. It had looked so simple.

Go to Romania, work with dragons, eighteen hours per day, seven days per week. No time for worries, no time to think of the war that was happening back there in Great Britain.

Charlie had never been much of a planner but he had taken care of this particular idea. He'd been growing up with war and, damn it, he finally wanted to leave it behind.

It didn't turn out the way he had thought it might.

It's war that keeps him awake during those long, dark hours in between work shifts. It seems like he can't get rid off it, never mind how hard he tries to.

He's scared.

He can't forget the war when there's a whole family involved in it. The Weasleys had always been a bunch of bloodtraitors and he's proud of that, sure, but he had never imagined -

He doesn't blame Harry. Of course he doesn't. It's not Harry's fault that he chose Ron as his best friend, that Molly and Arthur regard him as another one of their sons, that Ginny fell for him.

Merlin, Ginny.

His little baby sister. Too young to be in love. Too damn young to die.

No, Charlie can't forget war when his little sister is right in it.

He tried, you can be sure of that. He tried and tried and tried and failed.

He worked longer and harder than his colleagues. He didn't go to see the nurses when he had another bit of burned flesh because the pain gave him something different to think about. He drank at parties, a little more than was necessary, but he went to work the next day as if nothing had happened.

He _really _tried to escape war. He didn't write to his friends, he didn't read the newspapers, he pretended that Great Britain didn't exist but it didn't help.

War found him eventually.

_oOo_

_Only the dead have seen the end of the war._

_(Plato)_

_oOo_

There's Molly's face in the fire and she's telling him a story about his father getting attacked by a snake and he simply doesn't understand it – how can his Dad get hurt when he's in the Ministry of Magic?

Molly's crying, she's pale and the look in her eyes reveals how scared she is when she says that Arthur will get better soon and Charlie can't believe it.

Don't get him wrong, he doesn't want his father to die – _God, no_ – it's just that he's grown too used to being cynical about this whole stupid situation. He doesn't expect things to turn out well, he doesn't expect to have his whole family alive at the end of the war and sometimes he wonders whether it wouldn't be better to be dead, anyway.

It must be nice, he thinks. No more worries. No more wars.

He's so tired.

He's missing his school time that had such an innocent touch to it. He's missing his friends, their pranks, their laughter, he's missing the Scottish air and the Great Lake at Hogwarts, he's even missing his classes and his teachers and most of all, he's missing _Quidditch_.

Life had been nice, as a teenager. Before he became aware of what's going on in the wizarding world. Before he realized that someone he knew, someone he loved, might actually get _killed _in this stupid fight.

He feels sorry for Harry and Ron and Hermione and Ginny because not even their school time is innocent. He thinks of all the occasions in which the Dark Lord tried to kill Harry and he can't imagine what a horrible childhood that must be.

(But why Ron? And why, oh why, _Ginny_?)

(Why _Harry_? Charlie never asked. He doesn't blame him. Really, he doesn't.)

(Only during very, very dark hours when his head is full of black thoughts and alcohol and when there's no hope, no hope at all.)

_oOo_

_Wars are the dread of mothers._

_(Horace)_

_oOo_

Charlie doesn't count how many times his mum has asked him to come back home. It's been many, many times, many letters. He's been trying to give answers without really saying anything but it's difficult.

He can hear the pain in Molly's voice and he can see the little wet blots of tears that fell onto the paper and that she forgot to take off again. He's not stupid, you know.

He can't bear it. He can't bear his mother crying. So he looks away and closes his eyes and tries not to imagine how hard it must be for his mum. There's no way that they're all going to survive.

No way.

He's not stupid. He knows the odds. They're nine people in the family, ten with Harry, eleven with Hermione, and there really is no way that the Death Eaters aren't going to get at least one of them.

Charlie tries to be casual about it. It's just numbers, no faces, no feelings involved.

(And then there's a voice in his head, asking him to make hot cocoa, and there are eyes, brown as chocolate, and he simply doesn't manage to convince himself that Ginny is just a number because she isn't. She's his _sister_, she's their _baby_, the youngest one, the cutest one, she's their _girl _and they love her, they want to protect her and it almost drives him crazy to think about their baby fighting in a war for a boy she's been in love with since she's been ten years old.)

It makes him hate the Dark Lord with a hard, violent passion because _no one _hurts his family.

_oOo_

_If we don't end war, war will end us._

_(H.G. Wells)_

_oOo_

When they asked him whether he would go and try to recruit foreign witches and wizards for the Order of the Phoenix, he said Yes. Of course he did. How could he have refused this one, single request when his mum was looking at him with big, pleading eyes because recruition meant no fighting, when his dad was watching him nervously, when Dumbledore was putting his hands on Charlie's shoulders (oh, Merlin, it felt like wearing the weight of the whole world) and was smiling at him and telling him that he'd known Charlie would help them.

So he went.

Back to Romania, back to Europe. France. Spain. Greece. Hungary. Sweden. Germany.

He went to dark, suspicious places, he drank warm, bitter ale in shabby pubs and burned his fear away with fire whiskey.

He's good at talking with people. They sent the right man for this job and Charlie is glad (or something very similar) that he can do his little bit because he _knows _that the Order of the Phoenix can't do this alone. They need help, they need more supporters, more fighters, more fighters for the Good.

Charlie's all flirty and smiling, he's laughing with young Spanish witches with long, thick, black hair and dark eyes in beautiful faces, he's playing cards with gruffy Italian sailors and he's getting all the information he wants. He's telling his story, passionate and desperate, and he's always offered some comfort and a bed to sleep in but he hadn't expected-

He can't do it, you see.

He knows that he's sending these people right to death and he can't do it.

(If he doesn't, his family and friends will fight and they will die and he doesn't want that either. Damn it. Charlie's sure that if there's a God, he will be sitting in Heaven, watching him and laughing at the irony of his situation. Oh, the cruelty.)

(Charlie doesn't believe in God. Or in Heaven. He's seen too much of the world to believe in anything anymore.)

If Dumbledore is surprised because of the few successes Charlie is making, then he certainly doesn't show it. He doesn't say anything, he just looks and smiles and talks about this war and that they need to win it.

Charlie remains silent.

_oOo_

_We make war so that we may live in peace._

_(Aristotle)_

_oOo_

It feels weird to be in the same room again, alone, for the first time in many years. They had to, at least for half one hour. Please.

Fleur is busy downstairs, probably driving his mum crazy, but Charlie's just glad to be here, with Bill, just the two of them.

He's the older one. Charlie's personal hero. The one he's always turned to.

'Why do we even bother?', Charlie asks, 'We might die. They might die. We will all die and meet again in heaven or in hell and all the stupid fighting will just start again.'

Bill laughs although the situation really isn't funny.

'We do it for peace', he answers and he sounds convinced, more convinced than Charlie has ever been, but he knows that he can say everything he wants to his brother. It'll stay between them, in this tiny, little room, and he's got to say it if he doesn't want to explode in the near future.

'That's bollocks', he tells Bill, 'Peace means no fighting. How can we use brute force and killing spells to achieve peace? That sucks. D'you know that? It sucks.'

Bill sighs. 'I know', he replies and they look at each other. It still hurts to look at Bill's face that isn't so familiar anymore than it used to be, not with the scars and everything, but it's _Bill_, after all.

'We do it for our children', Bill continues, 'And for their children and for everyone else. Would you like your children to grow up in a world that's teaching them how bad and horrible Muggles are or Halfbloods? Would you like that?'

Charlie gets his point, of course he does. 'No, I wouldn't like that', he admits, 'I'm just fed up with all this fighting. It's too much. Don't you ever have your own doubts? Especially now, with Dumbledore dead and with Moody dead. Who's going to be the next one? Me? You? Dad?'

'Stop it!', Bill yells. He's covering his face with his hands and his voice sounds like broken glass. 'Stop it', he repeats, whispering, 'Stop it...'

Yes, they're brave. They're _Gryffindors_.

They're just tired.

And there are times in which everyone has doubts.

_oOo_

_There is no darkness, only a lack of light. There is no cold, only a lack of heat. There is no peace, only a lack of war._

_(Unknown)_

_oOo_

Charlie's dreaming.

_Ginny's laughing and waving at him, she's riding a broom and yelling 'Come on, what are you waiting for? We need you, we can't play without you!' and Ron and the Twins are there, too, Bill is kissing a very pregnant Fleur and Percy is wearing his serious face and talking to his parents. _

_'I'm coming!', Charlie's screaming back, he grabs his own broomstick, mounts it and kicks himself off the earth. It feels good to be on a broom, to have warm air touching his face, to fly, to leave all the worries behind, on the ground. The Weasleys are finally playing Quidditch again._

_-_

_Molly is cooking dinner and explosions are making the house shake, but no one really cares. Let the Twins have fun, they deserve it, and, after all, they're earning such a lot of money with their shop in Diagon Alley. Molly doesn't know how to show them how proud she is, how incredibly proud of her crazy, unbelievably crazy sons, even if she's telling them off for their pranks most of the times._

_-_

_He's lying on soft, green grass in bright sunshine, enjoying life and talking to his favourite (and only) sister. Her head is resting against his shoulder and she's telling him about Harry and about how much she loves him and about their future plans. Moving together, sharing a flat and decorating the living-room with thousands of photographs. Living lives instead of defending lives. _

_Ginny sounds happy, so happy, and young – so young. Charlie feels old next to her, but he's also relieved. If someone has to fight with the after-effects, he doesn't want it to be his sister. He's okay with being the one. He's used to having war in his life. He's just glad that it hasn't turned Ginny bitter._

_-_

Charlie's dreaming of a world without war. He's dreaming of a world he's never seen before.

_oOo_

_War._

_The hell where youth and laughter go._

_(Siegfried Sassoon)_

_oOo_

The moment he learns of Fred's death, Charlie feels a thousand years old.

His childhood (whether he really had one or not) is officially over and he needs to be a grown-up. He's bringing George to bed, George who isn't able to cry and who looks lost without his second half, George who seems like a different person without that mischievous grin on his face.

'It's okay', Charlie whispers, although _nothing_ is okay. Voldemort is dead, they have finally won this stupid, stupid war but at what price?

He's tucking George in and is watching his brother go to sleep, slowly, before he dares leaving the room again. His family's in the kitchen, silently brewing tea, and Charlie decides that he needs fresh air, desperately. The garden looks fine to him and he's running outside, his breathing is getting faster and faster until he collapses onto the grass. He's looking right into the sky, blue like cornflowers, and he's trying to get his head around it. Around everything.

'How... how are they?', someone asks and Charlie knows, without hesitation, that it's Harry who's coming to sit right next to him. He sounds unsure and lonely and no, Charlie really doesn't blame him. It's taken him long, long years full of dark thoughts in the middle of the night, but he doesn't blame Harry for anything. Not anymore.

'I don't know', he replies and stares into the sun which is shining so very clear and bright, 'They're going to be okay, though. _We're _going to be okay.' He hopes that Harry believes him.

(He hopes that he can believe himself.)

'I'm sorry', Harry suddenly says, 'I never meant to- I never wanted-'

'It's okay', Charlie interrupts him and turns his head to look at Harry, 'It's okay. Honestly. I know you never meant to. You didn't ask these people to fight, did you? They knew what was going to happen. They knew they might not get out of it alive.'

Charlie saw Remus and Tonks die and he supposes that Harry feels like he's the one to blame for their deaths. He isn't, though. Charlie has just realized that a few minutes ago and Harry still has to understand it. He feels sorry for Harry who looks like he hasn't laughed in years.

'It's over', Charlie says, 'It's over, you know. We can be happy now. We can live.'

Harry's got an insecure smile on his face. 'Yeah', he answers, 'We can live. I just haven't figured out yet how I'm going to do that.'

Charlie grins although he feels like crying. 'Go ask Ginny', he suggests, 'I'm sure it's easier to figure it out when you're together.'

Harry nods and leaves, leaves Charlie behind.

Twenty-five years of living with war and now, suddenly, it's over.

Charlie doesn't know how to feel.

He's just like Harry.

He doesn't know how to live when there isn't anything to worry about anymore.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
